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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29407692">Knit Three, Purl One</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusensical/pseuds/amusensical'>amusensical</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Caltrop [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Japan Arc (Rusty Quill Gaming), M/M, Multi, Rope Bondage, canon adjacent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:16:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,489</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29407692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusensical/pseuds/amusensical</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey Barnes.” Barnes looks up, right into the combined, mischievous gaze of Carter and Wilde. “We need a practice dummy. Um. Model.”<br/>Barnes steps over behind them, looks at the book, still turned to the diagram and numbered steps. “Practicing knots?” Wilde flips the pages back to the illustration. “Ah. Complicated.”<br/>“I know, right?” says Carter. “Nice though, with the two colors, and the way it crosses over?”<br/>“Maybe.” Barnes puts the tip of his index finger on the picture. “There’s the trick to it.”<br/>Wilde laughs, “Why Commander, are you familiar with this design?”<br/>“Not this in particular,” says Barnes. “But I’ve sure tied up enough mooks to know the way of it. We’ll see how you do.”<br/>“I’ll watch out for you,” says Zolf, from the fireplace. “Make sure they don’t get carried away.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Commander James Barnes &amp; Howard Carter &amp; Oscar Wilde &amp; Zolf Smith (Rusty Quill Gaming), Commander James Barnes/Howard Carter (Rusty Quill Gaming)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Caltrop [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160330</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This follows  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079369">Forging a Bond</a>, which concerns Barnes and Carter during the 18-Month Gap. This is the first work in the Japan Arc series, though at the time of posting Barnes and Carter have quite a ways to go before they arrive in Japan so the eventual sequence may change.</p><p>Thanks to  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimesere/pseuds/mimesere">mimesere</a> this is better than it began, as is so much.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a rare evening at the inn when no one is in quarantine, no one is prepping for a morning mission. The steady rain is a wash of sound rather than bluster, the kind of rain that cocoons the inn in sound and makes visitors unlikely now that the sun has gone down. Zolf outdid himself with a spiced fish stew for dinner, and the four of them are relaxing in the main room. Wilde lounges at the center table, leafing through an oversized book. Based on the slow rate at which he turns the pages, the illustrations must be fascinating. Barnes is in the armchair under the one bright lamp, knitting. Zolf is stretched on the sofa near the fire, halfway through a novel he’s been saving. </p><p> </p><p>At the bar, Carter wipes down the whetstone, wraps it and tucks it in the case. He puts the case on the shelf behind the bar, and picks up the small bundle of sheathed daggers. “All done,” he says. “The state some of these were in, you should be ashamed. I know they’re extras, but in that condition you might as well throw rocks.” </p><p>“Good thing you’re here, then,” says Barnes, smiling. </p><p>“Exactly. Where?”</p><p>“Top drawer by the back door,” says Wilde.</p><p>“The poet speaks, that’s what he’s for,” says Carter, walking toward the kitchen. “Anything?”</p><p>“Beer me,” says Zolf. “And be quiet about it, this is a good part.”</p><p>Carter whispers, “Anyone else?” </p><p>Barnes shakes his head. Wilde does, too, raises his sake cup and turns a page.</p><p> </p><p>Coming out of the kitchen, Carter drops a bottle for Zolf on the low table next to the couch, taps his own bottle against it and drinks. He wanders over and looks over Wilde’s shoulder as he turns a page, expects maps or etchings. What he sees makes him sit down fast on the cushion next to Wilde, who raises an eyebrow and grins. </p><p>“Wha- I mean I know what, but, whoa,” says Carter, taking a long pull from his beer.   </p><p>“You may have a point, that’s somewhat extreme,” says Wilde. He points to something on the page. “That there seems unnecessary.” </p><p>Carter tilts his head. “Maybe so, but it’s something. Lovely?”</p><p>“Exactly,” says Wilde. “All of these are beautiful as well as practical. Here.” He flips back several pages. “This one. Just hands, but look at the wrap.”</p><p>Carter leans in. “Huh. Like a net. It wouldn’t bind at all that way.” Barnes looks up, notices the edges of Carter’s ears gone pink.</p><p>“It doesn’t,” says Wilde, turning his head just enough to look aslant at Zolf, who smirks but doesn’t look up from his book. </p><p> </p><p>Carter reaches for the page but Wilde pushes his hand away. “Patience, my dear, ‘tis best to let the story unspool slowly.”</p><p>“Well stop stringing me along and turn the page,” says Carter, leaning into Wilde’s shoulder. </p><p>“That’s the spirit.”</p><p>Wilde turns pages, points, answers questions, chuckles at Carter’s exclamations. Back and forth, their voices blend into the rain, the fire, the click of needles.</p><p> </p><p>“What are the markings by the page numbers? Why does this one say seven-slash-ten?”</p><p>Zolf snorts. </p><p>“Ratings,” says Wilde. “That one’s rubbish, actually, unless you use quite a lot more rope.”</p><p>He turns the page. “This is where we started.”</p><p>Turns another. “And this is what I was looking for.”</p><p>“Holy fuck,” says Carter, over Wilde’s <em>hmmmm</em>. “No rating?”</p><p>“Not for lack of trying. Can’t get the pattern right. Followed the diagram and everything.”</p><p>“Wait, what? There are diagrams?”</p><p>“Of course, these are just inspiration.” Wilde flips through the pages to the back of the book, turns until he finds the matching diagram with step-by-step guidance. “The steps are right here but somehow we just keep getting tangled up.” He is outright grinning. Carter looks over at Zolf, who might be grinning behind the book raised up in front of his face.</p><p>“Huh. What you’re wanting is practice, then.”</p><p>“Are you volunteering?”</p><p>“Gods no, I’d be out of my skin. I can barely stay still to tie my own boots. Zolf?”</p><p>“Busy,” says Zolf. “Also, no ankles.” </p><p>“Good point.” Carter and Wilde exchange a look, and Carter shrugs. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey Barnes.”</p><p>“Yeh. Sorry, not listening. What?” Barnes looks up, right into the combined, mischievous gaze of Carter and Wilde. </p><p>“Would you be willing to help us with something?”</p><p>Barnes pushes the stitches tightly to the ends of the needles. “May’s well. This next bit’s fiddly as hell.” He tucks needles, work, yarn into the basket, slides it under the table, drains the glass from the table top. “What is it?”</p><p>“We need a practice dummy. Um. Model.”  </p><p>Barnes steps over behind them, looks at the book, still turned to the diagram and numbered steps. “Practicing knots?” Wilde flips the pages back to the illustration. “Ah. Complicated.”</p><p>“I know, right?” says Carter. “Nice though, with the two colors, and the way it crosses over?” </p><p>“Maybe.” Barnes puts the tip of his index finger on the picture. “There’s the trick to it. Where the wrapping joins the harness.”</p><p>Wilde laughs, “Why Commander, are you familiar with this design?” </p><p>“Not this in particular,” says Barnes. “But I’ve sure tied up enough mooks to know the way of it. Let me get a drink and have a piss and we’ll see how you do.”</p><p> </p><p>Ten minutes later they’re back in the main room with fresh drinks. Barnes is in pajamas, shirt and drawstring shorts, the soft rumpled linen he and Carter brought from Egypt. Several bundles of soft rope in different colors and weights lie on the table next to the book. </p><p>“All right,” says Wilde. “Regular rules apply, nothing’s supposed to hurt, use your words, no such thing as checking in too much. Yes?” </p><p>Carter nods, on the balls of his feet, eager as ever when something new is in the offing. The idea of Barnes, bound, even in fun, is entirely new. </p><p>“Yes,” says Barnes. “Already wondering what I’m into, here, with you two.”</p><p>“I’ll watch out for you,” says Zolf, from the fireplace. “Make sure they don’t get carried away.” </p><p>“Just be ready to manage the knots if they go awry.”</p><p>“Thanks to Carter, we have nice sharp daggers if it comes to that,” says Wilde, rolling up his sleeves. “Now, Carter, you read out the instructions and I will do my best. Barnes, your shirt please.”</p><p> </p><p>Barnes unbuttons his shirt, pulls it off, folds it and sets it down on the chair where he was before, sips from his drink, steps to stand in front of Wilde.</p><p>Wilde sets his hands on Barnes’ shoulders, moves him back a step, then strokes his arms, shoulder to wrist, catching up his hands and holding them out, tipping his head appraisingly. Barnes looks back, steady, though a flush blooms along the top of his chest. Wilde moves his hands back to his sides, lets them go with a little squeeze. </p><p>“Wilde, it’s fine,” says Barnes. “No need to make a production of it. Do your trussing.”</p><p>“Fair enough. Carter, what’s first?”</p><p> </p><p>The process soon finds a rhythm. Carter reads the next instruction, then turns to watch as Wilde gently drapes, loops, wraps. He smoothes each section of rope so it lies against Barnes’ skin, snug but not tight. Soon Barnes is encased in an open web of blue rope, shoulders to thighs. </p><p>He rolls his shoulders, shifts his weight. Wilde hands him his drink, and he finishes it in two swallows. The flush has spread across his chest.</p><p>“Looks just like the picture,” Carter says, hooking a finger under the line that crosses one side of Barnes’ chest. “Better, actually.” He is flushed, too, bright-eyed in the hungry way Barnes knows well.</p><p>Wilde is standing behind him, tugging gently, settling the lines against his back. Zolf gets up from the couch and steps over, watches Wilde tighten one of the knots. Whatever he does makes Barnes shift, raise his chin. </p><p>“Hey,” says Carter, unhooking his finger and rocking back on his heels. “Back up a minute there, Wilde.” </p><p>Barnes takes a deep breath, relaxes back into his easy stance. Zolf heads down the hall and Wilde walks back to the table. </p><p>“All right?” </p><p>“Yeh. Bit close, that’s all.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilde goes to the corner and gets one of the big floor pillows. “Sorry about that. We won’t crowd you.” He lays the pillow in front of Barnes’ feet. “You’re doing great. Wish I’d thought of this before. Practicing on a bedpost just isn’t the same.” Wilde shakes out the long coil of green rope, runs it though his hand to find the end. Barnes and Carter both watch the tremor of the short end as Wilde tugs it, the smooth pour of the longer end as it piles on the floor. </p><p> </p><p>“Let’s go on.” </p><p>Wilde kneels on the pillow, and presses his hands against the outside of Barnes’ knees until he shifts, until his legs are as close as he can keep them while still standing easily.</p><p> </p><p>Carter reads each instruction, and Wilde passes the rope around the column of Barnes’ legs, twice above the knees, twice below, twice at the ankles. At one point Wilde stands and goes to the book to check the knotting, sits down again and adjusts the rope at ankle and knee.</p><p> </p><p>Barnes stands still, lets Wilde wind the rope around him. The quiet call and response of instructions fades into the background noise of rain, wind chimes, his own breath.</p><p> </p><p>Wilde stands again, says quietly, “Carter, take his arm.” Wilde takes Barnes' other arm. “Last part now, time to kneel down.”</p><p>Barnes nods, leans forward as they catch his weight and lower him, kneeling, onto the pillow. He could have done it himself, but could have fallen, too. He puts his hands down on the pillow, moves his knees on the pillow until he is steady. There’s no rope directly around his knees so it’s a matter of balance rather than discomfort. </p><p>Carter is crouched next to the pillow, touches his shoulder. “All right?”</p><p>Barnes reaches up for Carter’s hand, sways. Carter steadies him, looks at him intently. </p><p>“All right. Odd, this.”</p><p>Wilde has brought over another pillow and is knelt on Barnes’ other side with the last coil of rope. “Odd how, Barnes?” Wilde is straightening the blue ropes, touching the knots.</p><p>“It, uh, I don’t hate it. Thought I might.” </p><p>“Good. Almost done. Water? You won’t have your hands free after this.”</p><p> </p><p>Carter hands him a cup, then sets it back on the table. He tugs at the edge of the book until it slides, catches it and sets it on the floor next to him. “I want to be down here. So I can see better.” He swallows. “You should see the rope on you, sailor. On your legs.”</p><p>“Easy there, Carter.” Barnes smiles, relaxed, almost languid. Carter looks over at Wilde, who shakes out the rope, smiling to himself. </p><p> </p><p>“Remember the picture? I’m going to do your arms, so just let me.” </p><p>Barnes nods, lets Wilde arrange his left arm so it is bent behind him, then held in place by loops of green rope through the blue harness lines. When it’s done there’s no strain to it. Wilde moves to the other side, grasps his arm at wrist and elbow. </p><p>“Take a breath, then let it out. This isn’t nothing.” Barnes inhales deeply, exhales as Wilde guides his sword arm behind his back. His next breath catches as Wilde tightens the loops, lashes his arms together. </p><p> </p><p>Carter still holds his shoulder, shifts from crouching to kneeling on the corner of the same pillow. He rubs at his own face with the other hand, then touches the center knot, right at the join of Barnes’ collarbones. </p><p>Wilde grasps his shoulders from behind, rubbing firmly. “I’m going to tighten all this now. Be as loose as you can. We’ve got you.” </p><p>Barnes nods, closes his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Somehow the slide of the rope is loud enough to hear over the rain as Wilde pulls the loops tight, from the base of his neck to the web at waist, hips, thighs, taking up the slack. His knees are drawn tight together, calves, ankles. </p><p>As Wilde is tugging at the ropes and finishing the knots, Barnes bows his head, lets it fall forward. Wilde pulls at the lashing around his arms and Barnes sits back, lets Wilde arrange his body so it is supported by the ropes and knots, exhales. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, sailor,” breathes Carter, petting Barnes’ hair, then stroking from the top of his bowed head down the curve of his neck to where the blue rope is taut across his shoulders. “All right?” </p><p>“Mmhmm.”</p><p>Carter strokes again, then kneels up and reaches to smooth his hand over the pattern of the binding, palms catching at the knots. </p><p> </p><p>“Wilde, it’s brilliant. The way the two patterns move together when he breathes. Look, here,” Carter plucks at the green-and-blue knot at the top of Barnes’ thigh, flinches away when the muscle underneath flexes. </p><p>Barnes inhales sharply. “Don’t.” </p><p>“Sorry, sorry.”</p><p>“No.” Barnes takes another breath. Carter looks to Wilde, “What?”</p><p>Wilde takes Carter’s hand, places it back where he had it, over the knot, both their hands feeling the knot move as the muscle flexes again under it, “Not ‘don’t.’ Don’t <em>stop</em>.”</p><p>“Mmm,” from Barnes. He is moving some, under the ropes, his breaths still soft, but faster.</p><p>“Ah,” says Carter, and leans his head on Barnes’ shoulder, one arm around his waist underneath his bound arms. The other hand traces and presses along the pattern of the binding, palming the curves framed by the ropes, chest, shoulders, belly. </p><p> </p><p>“Gods, that’s lovely,” Wildes says. “You’re perfect for this, you know.” He’s not touching, just speaking in his low purring voice. “Can Zolf look?”</p><p>“Mmhmm.”</p><p>“You understand what I’m asking?”</p><p>“Mmm.”</p><p>Wilde turns his head, catches Zolf’s eye. From where he is sat on the edge of the sofa, book long set aside, Zolf nods, levers himself to standing, shakes out his arms. He walks quietly over to stand in front of Barnes. </p><p>His expression is soft, fond, but with something sterner underneath.</p><p> </p><p>“This is me, now, Barnes,” says Zolf, tugging at the knot in front of his shoulder. He pinches the rope, drags along it from knot to knot, from shoulder to center, from center to the other shoulder. “Give me leave, and I will test these knots and tell you what I see.”</p><p>Carter raises his head, sees Wilde watching Zolf, Zolf looking down at Barnes, keeps his arms steady around Barnes’ waist, feels him answer. </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> Zolf looks to Wilde, who nods. Carter, wide-eyed, nods too.</p><p> </p><p>Zolf pushes one hand into Barnes’ hair, tipping his head up. He’s flushed, mouth a little open, eyes dark and wet, looking up at Zolf’s face. Zolf cups his jaw with the other hand, tugs with the hand in his hair. “You’re gorgeous. This, all of this, what they’ve done, it’s beautiful, and I’m going to look at it, all of it. Yeah?”</p><p>Barnes swallows, blinks, eyes overflowing. “Yeh.”</p><p>Carter stifles a moan against Barnes’ shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>“Raise up then, let me see.” Zolf hooks two fingers under the center knot, pulls, the whole web tightening, lifting Barnes up to his knees. He rocks forward into Zolf’s hand, sways, then settles. Carter is still sitting, one hand wound into the binding in the small of Barnes’ back, the other bracing his thigh. </p><p> </p><p>“Ah, that’s nice then, look what they’ve done. Looks so nice there.” Slowly, Zolf steps around, handles the knots, traces the lines, hums approvingly. “You’re so good, staying still, letting me feel the ropes on you.” Barnes’ breathing is more and more ragged, tears leaking out from his closed eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“One more thing.” Zolf steps behind Barnes, places his feet on either side of the pillow. “Carter, ease up for a minute. Barnes, you’ve done everything we asked, such a good job.” Zolf winds his hands into the webbing across Barnes’ shoulders, just above his bound arms, where the blue harness and the green lashing overlap the most. </p><p>“Give over now. I’ve got you.” Zolf lifts, and Barnes gives a low cry as the ropes tighten around him and his knees leave the ground, just enough to be suspended. His head drops forward, all the tension leaving his muscles, completely held in this web they’ve made for him. </p><p> </p><p>Carter presses his hand to his mouth, wipes at his eyes, tries to catch his breath. Wilde is sliding forward, on his knees still. He catches Carter’s eye, holds his arms open. Carter nods, gets his knees solidly under him.</p><p> </p><p>Zolf lowers Barnes to his knees, uses his grip in the ropes to gently tip him into Carter’s embrace. Carter holds him, murmurs, kisses his hair, as Zolf and Wilde release the knots. They unbind his arms, and there are a couple of awkward minutes as they maneuver into different positions, slide the ropes off. Barnes ends up mostly in Carter’s lap, his face against his chest, breathing finally slowed. </p><p> </p><p>Wilde moves around to sit behind Carter, his long arms around the two of them. Zolf leans his cheek against the top of Wilde’s head for a moment, then hands him a cup of water from the table and heads to the kitchen. Wilde sips, holds the cup for Carter. </p><p> </p><p>“Ah, that’s good,” Carter says. “Barnes, you with us?” </p><p>Barnes rubs his head under Carter’s chin, stretches both arms in front of himself. “Not entirely, I think.” </p><p>“Can’t see why,” Zolf says, coming in with a tray. “Just stay there a minute.” He hands Carter a full cup, tips his head at Barnes. Carter holds the cup against Barnes’ mouth; Barnes puts his hands around Carter’s hand holding the cup, drains it. </p><p>“Huh. That’s all right.” </p><p> </p><p>Wilde untangles from around Carter’s back, uses his shoulder to push up to standing. “That was quite splendid.” He pushes the pillows, helps Carter stretch out. Barnes is pliant, lets them arrange him, eyes closed, his mouth twisting in amusement. </p><p> </p><p>“Did you plan it?”</p><p>“No, sailor, I promise. It just happened.”</p><p>“An attack of opportunity, then.” Barnes is chuckling now, looks up at Carter, then at Zolf and Wilde sitting at the table. “Zolf.” </p><p>“Blame Wilde.” Zolf stands, walks to the bar and gets a clean towel, hands it to Carter, who wipes Barnes’ face, then his own. “He’s the mastermind.”</p><p>Wilde has the book in his lap, open to the illustration. “What shall I write then? Ten of ten, I think.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Gratitude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Carter</strong>
</p><p>“Just leave us here, we’ll be all right,” says Carter.</p><p>“‘M not movin'.”</p><p>“Good night then.” </p><p>“Good night Zolf.”</p><p> </p><p>“You asleep?”</p><p>“Mmmhmm.”</p><p>“Are you really all right?”</p><p>Barnes opens his eyes.</p><p>Carter is propped on one arm, staring down at him, a worried furrow between his eyebrows.</p><p>“Really. I’m wrung out, that’s all. From amazement. Talk tomorrow, yeah?”</p><p>“It <em>was </em>proper amazing.” </p><p>Carter lies back down on Barnes’ chest. </p><p>Barnes wraps his arms around him, nuzzles the top of his head. </p><p>“Thank you. For amazing me. For staying with me.”</p><p>“You’re welcome. Where else would I be?”</p><p>~</p><p>
  <strong>Zolf</strong>
</p><p>The sun is well up by the time Barnes leaves Carter asleep in their nest of pillows, pads into the kitchen. The coffeepot is on the back of the stove so it’s warm, anyway. He pours a cup, claps Zolf on the shoulder where he’s stirring something at the stove, sits at the table.</p><p>Sips.</p><p>“Morning.”</p><p>“Barnes. Breakfast? You should be hungry.” </p><p>“I wouldn’t say no if that’s porridge, bread’s fine else. I didn’t starve, Carter fed me fruit.”</p><p>“He did good. Sailor.” Zolf smiles over his shoulder.</p><p>“Yeh, well. I said don’t call me sweetheart. He is one, though.” </p><p>Barnes sips coffee. Zolf stirs. </p><p>“Zolf, what you did. It was... Thank you.”</p><p>“You’re welcome. You’d do the same.”</p><p>“In a moment, given the opportunity.”</p><p>Barnes sips coffee. Zolf stirs. Barnes stands, stretches.</p><p>“Wilde up?”</p><p>“Has his tea. Try not to yell, eh?”</p><p>~</p><p>
  <strong>Wilde</strong>
</p><p>After he is washed and dressed, Barnes taps at Wilde’s door, steps in to his <em>“Come.”</em></p><p>Wilde is sitting up in bed, newspapers strewn around. </p><p>Barnes sets his coffee mug on the desk, sits on the edge of the bed, looks at his hands.</p><p>“I should slap your face.”</p><p>Wilde raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”</p><p>“You’d probably like it. But still.” Barnes still has his head down.</p><p>“But still. Best make it a proper thrashing.” </p><p>Barnes snorts, looks up, grinning. </p><p>“You daft fae bastard.” </p><p>Wilde grins back. </p><p>“You.” Barnes points at him, chuckling, “and, y’know,” waves his hand, laughs harder.</p><p>“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” says Wilde, starting to laugh, himself.</p><p>“Hah! Exactly,” hoots Barnes, with an exaggerated wink, which strikes Wilde as even funnier. </p><p>~</p><p>In the kitchen, Zolf exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. </p><p>Carter wakes to the rare sound of Barnes laughing, sits up, grinning.  </p>
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